Guinevere's Guilt
by miss-maiaa
Summary: After returning from the Cauldron of Arianrhod, the king and queen take time to recover from their journey... But as one may expect, their minds are not at peace. There are questions that hunger for answers and feelings that cannot go unspoken of.


**Guinevere's Guilt**

The trek was long and tiring. The air in between the four riders was mainly filled with silence and exhaustion, and Merlin could've sworn Guinevere drifted off once or twice on their way back to Camelot from the Cauldron of Arianrhod. The summer sun beat down upon them in waves of heat, drenching their clothes with sweat. They were all thankful for the occasional shade from the tall trees that lined the forest pathways and the breeze that often fluttered through their hair. It wasn't enough, but no one was going to complain.

The four parted ways in the late hours of the afternoon the day after. Guinevere insisted Merlin take the day off, much to Arthur's chagrin, and the king himself ordered Mordred to get some rest before training the next day. They both watched the two young men part before making their way back to their own chambers – careful of their encounters with kitchen staff and other servants. Surely the castle would be abuzz with gossip, but neither felt up to dealing with it, so they decided a quiet night was to be best.

There was a small delivery waiting for them upon arrival from Gaius; a small basket of bread and a bowl of fresh fruit. There was no note, but it was not needed, for they knew it was to be a gift that would attempt ease their minds after their journey. Arthur let Guinevere grab the food in her hands before picking her up with a slight chuckle, ignoring her protests of "I don't want you to drop me" (his grasp was tight; he was not going to drop her) and bringing her over to the bed, where he laid her down on her designated side and happily flopped down onto his own, his head coincidentally falling in her lap. She giggled, placed the basket and the bowl down on the bedside table, and leaned down. At the last second her hands slipped under his head and pushed him away.

The two ate dinner on the bed after changing into their nightclothes. Arthur changed alone, and it did not take long, for all he had to do was slip from his armor and pull on a light pair of pants and a comfy shirt. Arthur insisted, however, that he help lace up the back of Guinevere's nightgown. When it was on, he slid behind the changing curtain and swept her hair from her back. She was shaking; he could feel her vibrating under his touch. She felt guilty, no doubt, and she was probably scared he would be upset, knowing now that the initial part of the aftermath was over. In an attempt to calm her down, he splayed gentle kisses over the back of her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist all the while. She ceased shaking and when he felt she was better, he began to lace up the back of her bodice, fingers grazing over her bare skin while he went. When he was finished he snaked his arms around her again in a tender hug. He wanted her to know it was okay. He wanted her to be okay about this.

Afterwards they sat down on the silken sheets of their bed. Guinevere sat down cross legged, breaking bread in half and handing one wedge to Arthur, who took it and munched down on it greedily. She giggled at the sight and ate her food in a more sophisticated, clean way. Arthur blushed with embarrassment and for the rest of the meal did not scarf down his food like he was a hungry wolf. He had gotten enough crumbs everywhere already and did not want to make more, especially because she would probably insist in cleaning it up.

"I'm sure you have questions," Guinevere said abruptly as she set the leftovers aside. At once she crawled into bed next to him and let herself get enveloped in his strong arms.

"On the contrary, I don't," he replied. This was a lie, of course. He had a million questions that had been running through his mind since she had been cured. While under the spell, did she still love him? Did she feel anything other than a lust for his blood, for his crown to be removed from his head? Everything that she told him, everything they said, all the sleepy mumbles and loving whispers, did they mean nothing? Were they an act? Did she hate him?

She pressed her nose into his chest and her eyes fluttered close. "You are a horrible liar, Arthur," she told him gently. "Don't try and fool me." Her fingers began to trace shapes on his skin, a movement both of them used when they talking in their bed – especially if one needed comforting, which both of them needed in this situation.

He sighed, placing a kiss on the top of her head. "I don't want to make you feel bad, my love," Arthur told her.

Guinevere sighed in return. "I am going to feel bad either way, Arthur, so I don't see the harm in it."

Arthur gently tilted her head up and her eyes open slowly. "Do not feel bad about what happened," he said, blue gaze flickering around her face, taking in her sight. "None of this was your fault. You were controlled and you were powerless to stop it. This is Morgana's fault."

Guinevere stretched her neck and kissed his chin. "Arthur, your words cannot change how I feel, as much as I wish they did," she confided. "It will take me some time to forgive and forget." Her head curled against his chest once more, her breath warming up his skin, her eyelashes brushing against him, her heart beating in her chest. She was started to shake again.

"Don't shake, Guinevere," he said softly, closing his eyes and resting his cheek on the top of her head. "I am not upset. I am not going to yell. You are safe in my arms. There is nothing to be frightened of." And like last time, his actions had halted her shaking, although he suspected it would not stay that way.

"I know you want to know and I will answer any questions," she murmured.

"And can you promise me that you won't feel guiltier?" he questioned.

"I can promise that I will try," she responded.

He did not want to cause her too much pain so he decided to keep his questions brief. "Did you think about ending my life when we were alone together?" he managed to breathe out. He felt himself beginning to shake too, because he was so afraid to hear her answer. He wished that she didn't, but alas, he knew better. He knew how magic manipulated the minds of those controlled by its forces and knew the answer before she even said it.

It was apparent that those days were hazy and she didn't remember them as sharply as she remembered what had happened before. "I remember… Yes." Her voice was thick with grief. "The clearest memory I have is… reaching out in the middle of the night to… to g-grab your sword. I don't know what stopped me. I can't remember. But I think you had a dream and woke up, so I… I put it back. And I can vaguely remember feeling… disappointment. And shame." Arthur felt Guinevere curl closer into his embrace. "I'm sorry."

"Guinevere, I told you, it's not your fault," he soothed gently, a hand running through the curls in her hair.

"I can… answer another, if you would like."

Arthur nodded slowly. He would only ask one more. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes and he did not want her to cry. No he didn't. "The things you said," he began, "all the whispers and murmurs and promises and everything you said when we were in bed or drifting into sleep, were they lies?"

Guinevere shook her head. "No, they weren't," she said quickly, then sighed and explained. "They were at the time, I mean. But they were taking from my old memories and feelings. They were my feelings, the feelings I had before I was cursed and the feelings I still have now. They were lies… at the time, but they are not lies… overall."

That question was not as hard for her to answer as he expected. One more couldn't do harm. "Did you… love me?"

A tense silence filled the air between them and she shifted uncomfortably in his arms. He, again, already knew the answer, just because of her reaction. He regretted asking – he did not want to hear her say it, he didn't want to hear the truth, because it would hurt him. But what was he to do? It had been said, and she was going to give him an answer. "No, I didn't. I… despised you, for all that you were, and I… wanted you dead. I wanted your crown. And Arthur, I'm so sorry." The tears spilled over and she began to cry in his arms, sobs racking her body, and all he could do was kiss her and hug her tighter to make her feel better, because evidently words did not work. "I love you with all of my heart, Arthur. I did before and I do now and I will forever, Arthur. I'm... so sorry."

"Guinevere, my love, my queen, do not be sorry," he tried to soothe. "It is my fault for asking. I am sorry Guinevere. I love you. Please don't cry, my love. There is nothing to be sorry about. Everything is fine. Don't cry."

"I'm sorry, Arthur."

The two lay like that for an hour. Guinevere cried, trying her best to keep quiet, clutching onto Arthur like a lifeline. He rocked her back and forth, very slowly, leaving kisses all over whatever parts of her he could reach and making sure she felt safe in his arms, not scared. She was crying, but she was not afraid of him, and she was letting him hug her, and that was all he wanted to do. All he wanted to do was hold her and kiss her and tell her everything was going to be okay and she was okay and he was okay and that everything would get better soon.

Eventually Guinevere drifted off, but Arthur did not. He held her tighter, more firmly as she slept, holding her so close so if she woke up in the middle of the night she knew Arthur was there and he loved her and didn't have to feel guilty. He just wished she didn't feel bad, because he knew she did, and he knew she would for a long time, even if she didn't say anything. This is why his father had banned magic, because it was dangerous… although perhaps Uther had been too weary. The witch at the cauldron had tried to help them and succeeded. Maybe it wasn't the magic itself that was bad, but the people who had it, the people who owned it as a part of them. Maybe magic could be good. Maybe one day it could be useful.

But for now, he was not intent on using it any time soon.

He too finally nodded off. The grip around Guinevere loosened and his head went slack and his nose began to erupt with snores. In fact, he began to snore so loud that he woke himself up, and when he noticed he was taking up most of the bed he rolled over so Guinevere had more room, taking the blankets with him. And then he was asleep again, snoring, sounding like a pig was roaming around the castle.

Meanwhile, Guinevere was dreaming. But it wasn't any dream. It was a nightmare. Everything was shaded with red and black and gray; tree branches were spindly fingers against the harsh scarlet sky, which swirled with clouds of smoke and shaded the white sun. In her hands was a rope, a tough rope with a noose at the end. A smile grew on Guinevere's face as she looked up at her darling husband, who was tending the horses, patting them and feeding apples from his palm. When Guinevere approached, he turned to her and grinned, and it faded when he saw the rope dangling from her grasp and her other hand wielding a small dagger. "My love?" he asked, his voice echoing. And then suddenly he was begging for his life, crying, and as the blade came down the queen's eyes flew open and she bolted upright in bed.

"Arthur!"

She pulled her knees to her chest and pressed her eyes against them. Next to her the king himself was stirring, eyes opening, hands moving around, and when he felt that Guinevere was not next to him, he pushed himself upwards. His blue, groggy eyes looked around as he mumbled a sleepy "Guinevere" and when he brought his fists to his eyes to clear the tiredness from them he started to hear someone… crying. At once he saw it was Guinevere and he crawled over to her and without hesitation, scooped her up in his arms and wrapped his legs around her body and pressed his head against the nape of her neck and started mumbling soothing words to try and get her to calm down.

"It was a nightmare, Gwen. Hush, my love, it was a nightmare. It was a dream. It was nothing. Shh, it's okay, Guinevere, I'm here. It was a nightmare. It's okay, everything is okay, you're safe, and I'm safe, it's okay. Guinevere, it's okay."

She was shaking. Arthur ran his hands down her sides and wrapped his arms around her waist, curling his fingers into the familiar fabric of her nightgown. It was all he could do; hold her and comfort her when what she needed to calm down was time and only time would heal her. And he would sit like that until she was better. He would sit like that forever if that's what she needed. But she was brave. Soon, everything would be okay. She was tough. Nothing hurt her; nothing. She was a rock. She was brave when Arthur could not be.

"Arthur?"

"Yes, my love," he mumbled, pulling away and tilting his head in an attempt to see hers.

"I love you," she whispered into the darkness. "I love you so much, Arthur. I will never stop loving you. Remember that, please, if anything like that should happen again."

"I know, my love," he replied.

She sniffled and he could feel her move to wipe tears from her eyes.

"Guinevere?"

"Yes?"

"I love you, too," he said, leaning his head against her shoulder. "With all my heart."


End file.
